On March 4th 1987, a most extraordinary funeral took place. Snuffie, the Gangster Woof of Amsterdam, was laid to rest. That was all so long ago, that only a large handful of you had the pleasure of meeting, and in some cases coming to know, my little dog guru. A few others have heard tell of him. To the vast majority the name itself is new. Snuffie and I were together for just over six years. I’d inherited him from my dear French junkie prostitute friend Elisabeth Lemoine, who died at far too young an age in early January 1981. Her tale is ultimately tragic. Whereas Snuffie’s is, and shall always remain, glorious. But the two are intertwined, at least to begin with. Hopefully one day I’ll get round to telling both their stories in full. For now, however, I’d simply like to introduce you, via a series of somewhat surreal photographs, to the ceremoniously stylish manner by which Woofie took his leave. His body left us, and his barks. Yet his spirit, and his special brand of uncanny canine wisdom, live on.

Today marks 30 years since my dear friend Elisabeth Lemoine passed away. Her story is complicated, and that of her death convoluted. In time I hope to write about both. Just as the late Australian artist Vali Myers had often urged me to, adding: “She is precisely my kind of people.” Elisabeth, you see, was a very talented painter as well as a beautiful and loving whore. She was also a devoted admirer of Vali’s work. Once, sitting on my lap and holding a big book of the artist’s prints, she patiently explained Vaii’s more complex paintings to me, pointing out many fine details that I’d not previously seen.